


Eighteen

by AlexC, Trixy_BuenaSuerte



Series: The Eighteenth World [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, Arranged Marriage, Attempted Murder, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Horror, Murder, Mystery, Romance, Screw Destiny, fighting fate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 14:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3385508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexC/pseuds/AlexC, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trixy_BuenaSuerte/pseuds/Trixy_BuenaSuerte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would you do if you knew when you were going to pass on? What if you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you wouldn't live to see your nineteenth birthday? </p><p>Fate has decreed that you die at eighteen and there's no fightng fate, right? So do you just sit there—whining and moping—waiting for death to come and get you or do you find some way to fight it? Do you stand up and fight and live the best damned years of your life?      </p><p>Daniel—sixteen years old and on the last two years of his life—is not too sure what he's going to do but one thing's for sure. </p><p>He's done. Done waiting for death and done with the drama that seems to come from wearing the Stildoph name. He doesn't care if there's prestigious blood in his veins, he's going to do what he wants, damn it. And no one, not even fate's going to stop him. </p><p>Too bad it's never that easy though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eighteen

 

My Grandpa Alfred always told me _‘Life moves on’_ and—for some reason—those words have stuck with me since the first time they left Grandpa’s weathered lips. Those words always eased my troubled mind and comforted me when I felt like things had gone horribly wrong. 

They were the balm that soothed my wounds every time I had made a mistake and it made me realize that Grandpa was someone to be taken seriously. That his words were not to be taken lightly but I seemed to be the only one to think that.

It had upset me to the point of tears once-when Mother had told me to ‘ignore the old coot’.  I mean, how could they not see the wisdom in those three simple words? I just couldn’t understand, the man was my idol and should be respected by all even if he also used to say ‘It ain’t a thing but a chicken wing’.

He was a man of humor.

Grandpa also once told me, on his last day on this planet, that I would grow up to be special and those words-spoken with a smile and the glazed eyes of an old man-filled me with nothing but dread. One would think it would make them feel important, that you would jump at the thought of being better than anyone else.

But not me.

It made me feel vulnerable. It made me feel like an invisible weight had settle on my shoulders and filled me with anxiety because what if I didn’t turn out special? What if I let Grandpa Alfred down and turned out to be nothing? Not something your average six year old should have been thinking after having those words spoken to them, right? 

It didn’t stop me, though and it was soon after that, when his fragile hand had gone lip and slipped from my frozen hand that it started. It had been simple at first, just a small awareness of the fact that that number would always pop up in the back of my head.

It was like a whisper I would only notice when all was quiet and every time I realized that I was still thinking about it shivers would run down my spine. It felt like its own presence and no matter how many times I tried to ignore it I couldn’t.

Once I paid attention to it, it seemed to grow in volume until it was more of a scream than a whisper. It was what fueled my addiction to music because that seemed to be the only thing that drove the number away and before long my music player was attached to my hip.

It was later on, when I had turned eight that the importance of that number hit home. As I watched the candles flicker on my birthday cake while a handful of cousins gathered around me that I finally understood why the number haunted me. It had been a simple statement that had provided the answer but it was shocking enough to cause tears to pool in my eyes.

“I wanna live forever and ever.”

One of my younger cousin’s had yelled happily, having over heard the grownups talking about mortality, and I froze because those six words had made it all click together. It felt like my world had ended and tears poured down my cheeks-unnoticed by the party goers as they sang-and when time came to blow out the candles I had blown them out with the broken sobs that tumbled from my lips.

“Its okay, baby,” Mother had cooed once they had noticed my tears and I had clung to her while I sobbed into her long pink skirt. I had cried for hours after that and refused to answer when some had asked me what had happened because I knew they wouldn’t understand.

Who would?

Who could understand that I knew that I would die at eighteen?


End file.
